


A Very Avengers Christmas

by the_somnambulist



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, silliness, tactical mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:57:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_somnambulist/pseuds/the_somnambulist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas in the Avengers Tower and someone's found them all stockings. Bruce is the only one who can cook a turkey, Thor is determined to participate in Midgardian traditions and Steve is adorable in a Santa hat. There's also Clint, who is very, very serious about his mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Avengers Christmas

Some sorcery has covered Tony's living room in tinsel and greenery. He knows where the tree came from, he organised that himself a week ago but it seems like every time he leaves the room gnomes creep out of the woodwork and throw more decorations everywhere. The other day he nearly fell over a collection of sparkly reindeer. There's also a substantial quantity of tactically deployed mistletoe, but he suspects that particular gnome might have been Clint. The latest addition - which Tony is prepared to swear was not there before he went to the bathroom - is stockings hung over the TV. There's one for every avenger. Their names are embroidered on them. Tony's is red and gold. The whole thing is bizarre.

Bruce bats him on the shoulder, waking him from his staring contest with the stockings. "Just roll with it," he advises. "And don't take them down, the others will pout. Night, Tony. Don't stay up all night, it's Christmas tomorrow."

"I know it's Christmas tomorrow, Christmas has been unavoidable for weeks!" Tony shouts after him, making a grab for his tablet as he does so. The tablet may be the only non-seasonal thing in the room and he strokes it protectively in gratitude as he sinks into the couch. He's the last one up, which isn't unusual, but normally doesn't happen til much later on. Clint's standard bedtime of somewhere between midnight and 4 am has been abandoned since the faster he goes to sleep, the sooner there are presents, which Tony considers to be a worryingly childish attitude from someone responsible for saving the world. But then, one of the other people responsible for saving the world clearly thinks flashing plastic snowmen that sing Christmas songs are appropriate, so the world is doomed regardless. Tony curls himself further around the tablet. Science. Science will keep him safe. Christmas can't possibly be here forever.

 An unspecified time later, he's forced to lift his head from the plans he's working on by Steve awkwardly looming up beside him.

"What are you still doing here? I thought everyone would be in bed," Steve asks, looking uncharacteristically annoyed to see Tony.

"I never sleep, you should know this by now. Why aren't you in bed, Mr Regular Hours? Don't you have to be up to go running at half 4? What are you even doing in here?" His questions run out halfway through as he clocks how shifty Steve looks, not meeting his eyes and with a blush steadily climbing up his neck. He's also trying to conceal something behind his back, something sack-like and lumpy.

"Oh my god, Steve, are you being Santa? Did you put the stockings up? How are you even real, that's just..." _adorable_ , his brain supplies. Steve blushes even harder.

"Well, I thought it would be nice,” Steve admits. “Thor's so excited about our customs, I thought he'd like it. And everyone else. I didn't put the stockings up though, I think that was Nat."

"Well, Clint will probably faint from joy if he finds a stocking in the morning, so go ahead. I think you make a great Santa. Shame about the lack of beard though," Tony grins up at him, noting the progress of Steve's blush with interest. Steve half heartedly glares at him.

He has several presents for each of them, and they're all wrapped properly. Tony watches, caught between amusement and wanting to wrap up Steve himself and stick a bow on him, he's just so precious. When he gets to Tony's stocking he glances back awkwardly and hunches over it to hide what he's doing.

"Don't worry, I won't peek," Tony tells him. "I'm a good boy."

Steve quirks an eyebrow at that and stands back to survey his work. The stockings hang in a lumpy row, looking enticing, and Tony debates peeking anyway as soon as Steve leaves the room. Then he catches Steve's stocking, still flat and empty on the end of the row, and feels an unpleasant pang of guilt and sadness. _He won't even mind not having anything,_ he thinks. _He'll just be happy we're happy. Stupid Mr Perfect. Damn._ Tony is going soft, clearly, because that is suddenly unacceptable.

"You know, Santa normally gets left milk and cookies. You should get milk and cookies. No, wait. Hot chocolate and cookies. With marshmallows and whiskey. Make me one too!"

"I didn't know Santa has to make his own reward," Steve grumbles, but he's already moving towards the kitchen, caught by the notion of marshmallows. Steve makes his hot chocolate the old fashioned way, in a saucepan, and it takes ages. Tony has time. As soon as Steve's out of site he dashes off to his suite, as silently as possible.

"JARVIS!" He hisses, rifling through a drawer, "do I have wrapping paper?"

"No, sir. Fortunately Miss Potts left some in the bureau," JARVIS informs him. Tony flings himself towards the bureau. The paper has party hats on and reads Happy Birthday. Never mind, there's no time for anything else. Tony has half a desk full of weird or wonderful things he's begged, borrowed or stolen from various shops and labs and conventions, or from S.H.I.E.L.D., that have caught his eye or remind him of something. He unearths a Captain America bobble head, a bouncy ball filled with stars and a little robot dog he thinks he might have...augmented. Sure enough, when he flips it over it has tiny repulsor feet. Is that enough? Not enough, he decides, and scrabbles at another drawer. Right on top of it is an old fashioned looking knife in a leather sheath and god knows where he got that from but it's just right. He proceeds to execute possibly the worst wrapping job known to man or superhuman; all he can find is duct tape and there aren't any scissors anywhere. Clasping the resulting mess to his chest he runs back to the living room.

"JARVIS, where's Steve?" he pants, lurking just outside the door in case he's finished his interminable hot chocolate ritual already, but JARVIS replies with a reassuring "Captain Rogers is in the communal kitchen, sir." After that it's but the work of a moment to insert the gifts into Steve's stocking and recline back on the couch like he's been there all along.

Steve re-emerges with a tray bearing two hot chocolates, a plate of cookies and the whiskey bottle and deposits it on the coffee table at Tony's feet. Tony adds a generous slug of whiskey to each mug and chinks his against Steve's with a grin.

"Well, I think you're a great Santa," he tells him, and Steve grins back over the edge of his mug.

“I just got the idea from all the Christmas movies Clint’s been making us watch,” he explains, savouring his first marshmallowy sip. Tony violently crushes the urge to wipe away the splash of cream that has attached itself to Steve’s lip. “and I think Jane’s been telling Thor about it as well, he’s been talking about Midgardian traditions non-stop. I just figured...it’ll be nice, right? We’re all here. Nothing bad’s happened yet. We should try and have a proper Christmas even if it’s changed a bit since I was a kid. I want to know what it’s like.”

“I mean if you haven’t got the idea of what Christmas is like in the 21st Century by now, Steve, you’ve been watching Clint’s movies with your eyes closed,” Tony tells him, adding more whiskey to his hot chocolate.

“I didn’t mean 21st century, I meant more what it’s like, you know, in general?” Steve trails off like he’s unsure of himself, looking a little confused and a little wistful and oh, no, the puppy eyes are creeping back.

“A proper Christmas in general? Like, you haven’t had a proper Christmas before?” Tony doesn’t realise how incredulous he sounds until the words have slipped out. Even with his own profoundly unsatisfactory parents (and he skates across the top of _that_ particular thought, _let’s just not even go there_ ) Christmas was still a pretty good time of year, with a house full of people and new and interesting toys appearing.

Steve looks shyly away from him, focussing on the cup in his hands with a little frown. “We just...I mean we didn’t have much money ever. And my mom tried, she really did, but I knew it was hard, you know? So I didn’t want her going to too much trouble, I always tried to stop her. We used to walk all over town and look at the lights, that was nice.”  
“What about last year?” Tony blurts, “you were thawed out, what happened then?”

“Well, everyone was off doing their thing. You were nearly dying, as it turned out. I just stayed home.”

“Yeah, last year was not an unmitigated success, definitely not up for doing that again. I mean the almost dying was bad and the exploding people and stuff but really the rabbit was the worst, I mean no wonder Pepper left me, the rabbit really was the death knell of that relationship, can you imagine?” Tony realises he is babbling and something Steve just said raises a response in his brain. “Wait. You stayed home? By yourself? Where, in your shitty S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters? Oh my god, Steve, why would you do that to yourself? You’re Captain America, people would literally kill each other to spend Christmas with you. To spend any time with you. Oh my god.” He stops because Steve is looking more and more unnerved and uncomfortable, but he is genuinely shocked. Captain America, sitting at home alone on Christmas. He must have looked like an abandoned puppy. How did nobody notice this happening?

Steve has gone red again and appears event more interested in his drink, if possible. “I didn’t want to intrude on people,” he mutters. “Everyone was going off places and you all have people, or family, or know what to do with yourselves, you know, and I don’t really know that many people. There was a party for everyone who was still at S.H.I.E.L.D., I could have gone to that. I just…” he hunches up into the couch like he’s trying to pretend this conversation isn’t happening. Tony stares at him, suddenly feeling deeply, terribly guilty. He grabs Steve’s drink out of his hand and sets both mugs back on the tray before dragging Steve awkwardly into a hug. He doesn’t resist, possibly out of surprise. Tony wraps a hand round the nape of his neck and pulls his head in to rest on his shoulder.

“You’ve always got us,” he tells Steve’s back muscles, which are taking up a lot of his view right now. “You know people. Don’t do that again, nobody wants sad puppy Cap, it’s depressing.” Steve twitches at that but Tony hangs on. “I’m serious and I’m terrible at serious so pay attention. I’m always here, the others are always here, although you probably would not want that, god, the day I depend on Barton for my happiness is the day I just want to end it all, oh god I need to shut up,” but Steve huffs a laugh over his neck and it tingles and Steve has relaxed into him and Tony wants to never let go but also still kinda wants to punch the world for whatever stupid chain of events led Captain America, _Steve_ to thinking nobody would want him around on Christmas. And wants to punch past-Tony for not noticing, but then again his hyper-awareness of everything Steve Rogers related has only been a thing for the last few months. And Tony was sort of preoccupied at the time.

While he wrestles with his conscience and his self-justification, Steve eases his head off Tony’s shoulder and pulls away.

“Thanks, Tony,” he says, and it’s warm and fond and makes Tony’s stomach bubble. Steve’s face is still really quite close to his and he unconsciously licks his lips. Steve glances at his mouth and his eyes go weird and heavy for a second before he moves away, settling himself back in the couch.

“You stole my hot chocolate,” he says, and his breath is a tiny bit unsteady. Tony replaces the mug in his hands with a totally unnecessary flourish and then stuffs himself with a cookie to cover his happy grin when Steve chuckles at him.

“You should see more Christmas stuff,” he decides suddenly, searching around him for his tablet. “I bet Barton never showed you any Doctor Who Christmas specials, the philistine.”

“Doctor what?” Steve makes his confused face.

“No, Doctor Who,” Tony smirks, because really who can resist, and Steve’s mouth quirks up as well. “It’s got science and energetic people! You love that particular combination!”

“I dread that particular combination, Tony, you are terrifying,” Steve tells him wryly, but settles back to allow Tony to prop the tablet up in front of him anyway. “Am I going to understand this?”

“Not at all,” Tony tells him happily.

 

A rustling noise nearby half-wakes Tony some time later, and he blinks muzzily at the room. The lights are dimmed, even the Christmas tree, and the tablet’s powered off. Steve’s arm is draped along the back of the couch above him and his head is tipped back, asleep, with Tony half-fallen onto him. Bruce is tiptoeing around the stockings, slipping gifts into them, but he glances over when Tony raises his head blearily.

“Shhhh,” Bruce holds a finger to his lips. “Cap’s sleeping.”

“Shhh,” Tony agrees, closing his eyes again and nuzzling into Steve’s very warm side. Steve shifts with a little grumble, curling his body in towards Tony, and Tony smiles against his t-shirt.

 

His next awakening is considerably less pleasant, since it owes a lot to a very enthusiastic Clint Barton shrieking “Presents!” as he sprints into the room. The shriek is followed, abruptly, by a quiet “oh my god” and then he’s hissing “Tasha! Get in here, you have to see this.”

Tony tries to rouse himself from his warm cocoon to glare at Barton, and realises he’s still wrapped up in Steve. Someone’s covered them both with a blanket and Steve’s got his arm around Tony’s shoulders, Tony is pressed against his chest and oh, he’d like very much to stay here, please. Unfortunately, Clint is joined by Natasha, who nonchalantly takes a photo of them. Tony wriggles his way upright. Somebody - the same one as the blanket fairy? - has put a Santa hat on Steve. It’s a good look. He prods him gently in the stomach.

“Up and at ‘em, Cap, the children are laughing at us.”

“It’s only because you’re so sickeningly cute,” Natasha tells him as Steve frowns and rubs sleep out of his eyes. For a moment his arm tightens round Tony, but then he stretches and Tony has to suppress a whimper.

“Merry Christmas, my friends!” Thor booms, bounding into the room with Bruce in tow. “I am excited to participate in this day!”

“Of course you are, everyone’s excited for presents, can we open them now I have a stocking, I want my stocking,” Clint babbles, mostly in one breath, and grabs his stocking off the TV without waiting for an answer. Thor gravely doles out the rest of them and they all pile up on the couches, wrapping paper going everywhere.

Tony discovers that everyone’s been playing Santa, if the wide variety in wrapping styles and content are anything to go by, and how he possibly slept through Thor filling stockings in the same room will be a mystery for the ages. Thor seems to have done all his shopping in the toy aisle - Tony has a Transformer and a pink sparkly wand. Clint appears to have contributed a dildo, because he is a terrible person and cannot be trusted; horrifyingly, when Tony looks up Steve is also holding a dildo and looks like his head might explode. Clint almost falls off the couch laughing as Steve hastily buries it in the pile of discarded wrapping. Natasha unwraps something in Steve’s (star-spangled, _obviously_ ) paper and promptly adds the - really rather stylish - sunglasses to her Christmas day ensemble of pyjamas, bedhead and a Thor-given plastic crown. God, how he wishes he could take photos without her killing him.

Tony watches out of the corner of his eye as Steve reaches the birthday-wrapped abominations in the bottom of his stocking and eases them open, a tiny smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. He clearly likes the knife, sliding it out to test the edge, and he cracks a full grin at the Captain America doll. Tony’s face responds by itself when he glances up and murmurs “thanks, Tony,” over the rustle of paper in his lap.

“Like it better than Barton’s gift?” Tony can’t resist asking, because it makes Steve go red again. Before Steve can muster a reply Tony goes back to his stocking, opening a Steve-present to find...an Iron Man bobblehead doll. He bursts out laughing. Steve solemnly takes the doll from his hand and puts them both down on the coffee table, between their discarded mugs, and bumps Tony’s shoulder with his own as he sits back.

“Great minds, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tony grins, and this might just end up being a pretty great Christmas.

 

Clint is all for moving straight onto the tree after he demolishes his stocking, but Thor's grasp of Christmas traditions has other ideas. Apparently in Jane's family, they open tree presents after lunch, so he wants to wait. Steve backs him up, because he has a fetish for self-denial, and Tony suspects that he secretly thinks it's more civilised, somehow. Clint whines ferociously.

"Come on," Steve stands, balling paper up as he does. "Let's have breakfast, tidy up here a bit and get cooking."

"You're all terrible at Christmas," Clint accuses, but the prospect of breakfast clearly appeals even though he casts another mournful look at the tree as he pulls himself out of his nest of presents. Thor causes a mini-avalanche of plastic toys but sets out determinedly to the kitchen, followed by Bruce.

“AHA!” Clint yells, and everyone jumps. “Mistletoe! Mistletoe! Look!”

Sure enough Thor and Bruce have managed to walk under one of the many large bunches of mistletoe Clint has been carefully placing around the building, after spending an alarmingly long time studying people’s frequent walking patterns. Bruce looks a little bit baffled and a lot alarmed, as Thor lets out a woop of laughter.

“My beloved Jane has told me of this ritual! Come, friend Banner!” he cries, and Bruce manages a strangled “oh god” before Thor has him in a bear hug and is pressing what must be a very hairy kiss to his lips. There’s a reasonable amount of flailing.

“Merry Christmas,” Thor declares, drawing back and patting Bruce’s shoulders encouragingly. Bruce looks slightly stunned.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “And the rest of you can stop that giggling, thank you very much.” Tony covers his mouth with his hands. Natasha manages to go completely grave in a heartbeat, Clint is beside himself and even Steve is smirking.

"What is a traditional Christmas breakfast?" Thor asks Steve, who just shrugs.

"French toast," Tony decides firmly. Of course, this fails to work out - everyone demands something different, and they end up making their usual wildly variable breakfasts themselves. Bruce has his healthy nuts-and-seeds stuff that Tony thinks tastes like dirt, Thor has a veritable mountain of bacon and Clint opts for pancakes. Steve loyally joins Tony for the french toast and liberally slathers it in syrup, although he can’t resist snagging a piece of bacon while Thor’s back is turned. After breakfast he genuinely does make them clear up, as well - in the living room and the kitchen. Clint and Tony are equally outraged. In their world, cleaning is something that happens to other people, but it’s remarkably hard to say no to Captain America making a stern face in bare feet and slouchy pyjamas. And a Santa hat.

 

While trying to find a suitably Christmassy band tshirt, it abruptly occurs to Tony that he has no idea how to make a Christmas dinner. He’s not sure if anyone knows. Steve is good at simple, giant meals with 5 ingredients, Thor can microwave things like nobody’s business and Clint just covered the kitchen in flour which does not speak well for his abilities. Somehow, Tony does not see Natasha making them all food. He debates how well Thor and Steve will accept the idea of takeout on Christmas Day. Maybe he should have hired caterers. Maybe this should have occurred to him before 11am on the day itself. Steve is gonna make sad puppy eyes. _Damn._

“JARVIS, do we have a turkey in the building? Can it cook fast enough? How long does it take to cook a turkey?”

“We have a turkey, sir. Dr Banner is currently basting it,” JARVIS replies.

“What? Banner is what? Where?”

“In the kitchen, sir. Where the oven is.”

“You aren’t allowed to be sassy with me, JARVIS!” Tony calls, dragging a shirt over his head. “Basting sounds terrible, he could be anywhere.”

Jarvis is right, though. Bruce is in the kitchen, with a large foil-wrapped lump that Tony assumes is a turkey. He’s poking it with a thermometre.

“You’re cooking, Banner? What on earth is going on?”

“Well I wasn’t going to leave it up to you incompetents,” Bruce tells him, with what Tony has to admit is total fairness. “I know how to cook. Also I know that you have to remember to put it in the oven way sooner than 11.30 if you want it for lunch.” He eyeballs Tony meaningly. Tony winces. “Since you’re here now, you can start helping with the vegetables. Peel potatoes?”

“You mean I have to work? Bruce, this is outrageous, it’s Christmas, season of relaxing and possibly napping on the couch. I’m not dealing with that peeling business anyway, I can invent something to peel potatoes in half the time, I have robots to do this kind of thing!” His attempt to flee to the workshop to find something to peel potatoes for him is impeded by a wall of Steve that has somehow loomed up behind him without Tony noticing, and he over-balances dramatically. Steve steadies him with one hand and presses a potato against his chest with the other.

“Peel,” he instructs firmly. “Everyone’s helping. You don’t get to slope off and tinker while other people are making you food.”

“Then what’s the point of being a billionaire?” Tony asks reasonably, but he picks up the peeler at the same time. Steve’s wearing a blue and white starry jumper and he’s kept the Santa hat on, which if Tony’s honest almost makes up for being forced into manual labour. Bruce hands Steve another peeler and a bag of pointy beige things and Steve dumps a basin on the counter between him and Tony, giving him a little crinkly smile. “Peeling buddies,” he says, waving a vegetable. “I said everyone would have to help.”

 

Much to Tony’s surprise everybody does end up helping at some stage. Natasha is as good as one would expect at chopping things up and Bruce sets her to making stuffing. Clint is trusted with washing up and occasional taste-testing. Nothing burns. People are laughing. Tony gets JARVIS to play Christmas music and dances along, pulling the others into impromptu routines when they aren’t doing something culinary. Clint gets soapy water everywhere. It’s great.

Bruce allows them a break when everything is either baking, prepped or ‘resting’, which is apparently a thing that food needs, who knew. Clint perches on the back of the couch as they throw on some crappy TV, keeping a beady eye on everyone that moves; when they aren’t paying attention, he tries to shift the mistletoe around so nobody can learn to avoid it. He catches Steve and Natasha, which Steve deals with gracefully by kissing her hand like a proper gentleman; Tony thinks if it was anyone else they would have lost a limb but Steve can always get away with the cheesy stuff. He then manages to catch himself in an unguarded moment when he passes Thor on the way to the kitchen, and Bruce laughs himself silly. Tony starts to think Thor is walking under the mistletoe on purpose when he gets up himself, almost walks into Thor and hears Clint’s noise of glee. Thor’s technique has not gotten any more dignified with practice,either; Tony finds himself lifted off the floor and kissed enthusiastically. Released, he staggers theatrically and wipes at his mouth, casting a glance at Steve to find that he is not laughing along with the others and in fact stands up abruptly at that point and claps his hands.

“I think we need to set the table,” he declares, and Bruce agrees as he hurries past to check the turkey.

Tony discovers that he possess mysterious ‘good china’ and has no idea where it came from. Clint produces a box of crackers and Natasha displays astonishing flair at arranging napkins. The table does look fancy. Steve carries out a giant platter of vegetables as Tony goes back to collect wine, and amazingly he notices the mistletoe they walk under before Clint does. Tony wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and is rewarded with a patent Steve grin as he presses a soft kiss to Tony’s forehead. Tony wants to melt all over the floor.

 

Dinner is delicious. Bruce is universally hailed to be a genius and is given the biggest paper crown in the crackers. Hardly anyone throws any food around and there’s amazingly enough there to sate even Thor and Steve. Tony leans back in his chair, paper crown falling over his eyes and reaches for his wine glass, while Clint, Thor and Steve have a ball with the stupid cracker jokes, and is really overwhelmingly grateful all of a sudden for this crazy family that he’s been sucked into. He knows, intellectually, that Pepper was right to leave him, but he felt for months afterwards like it was back to being him against the world, and now he shares his home and his life with this group of massive dorks. He doesn’t know where he got so lucky. Steve looks over to see his reaction to a particularly egregious cracker pun and Tony smiles at him and it must look happy because Steve's answering smile is like the sun coming up.

This is the moment Clint chooses to ruin by demanding the rest of his presents, but Tony has the image of Steve smiling like that at him and he doesn't think he'll forget it in a hurry.  
Natasha and Clint are under the tree already, searching through the parcels, and Clint woops when he finds a big one with his name on. It's from Tony, actually, and it's a new crossbow that he's done a little experimenting on. It's received with gratifying enthusiasm. Everything is, really, especially by Thor who soon amasses a collection of weird foods, pointless kitchen appliances and toys and clearly loves every bit of it. All Natasha's gifts, both given and received, are weapons - Tony gets nunchucks. He’s sure there’s some reason behind it. Bruce has a field day with Tony’s gift of new and exciting lab equipment - Tony left most of it in the lab, but he had a token box left under the tree with a list of the rest, and Bruce coos over the list for a solid fifteen minutes.  
Steve gives Tony an antique astrolabe, which he takes a few minutes to identify. It’s made of brass and it’s beautiful, if unlikely - Tony doesn’t think anyone’s given him an antique before. Not much about Tony Stark tends to say _antique_ to people.

“It’s like a really early computer,” Steve tells him. “I thought you might appreciate that. How they’ve changed. And I thought it was pretty but I can take it back if you don’t like it.” He looks bashful and cute and Tony wants to hug him.

“It’s great, Steve,” he tells him sincerely. “I’m going to keep it somewhere Barton can never ruin it.”

Clint reaches over Natasha to poke him with an arrow, and Tony fights him off with the nunchucks. They’re coming in useful already.

Tony watches out of the corner of his eye as Steve opens his presents, admires them all and thanks everyone in turn. He’s saved Tony’s gift to last, and he looks delighted with it. Tony’s got someone else to make it since he wanted it in wood, but he designed it himself - it’s a case for Steve’s art supplies. He made sure it has lots of little drawers that fold out and he’s filled them with what JARVIS and various shop assistants assure him is the best range of paints, pastels and pencils he can find. Steve looks a little overwhelmed by the range. He shifts gently through the collection of pens and inks in the bottom shelf and Tony bites his lip when Steve pulls out the part he’s actually worried about - a fountain pen in a little wooden box. Steve’s face goes still when he opens it and Tony knows he’s clocked the engraving - _H. Stark_ in black on gold. He just sits with the box in his hands for a long time, and Tony eventually cracks under the strain and moves to sit on the arm of his chair.

“I really want you to have it,” he tells Steve. “He was your friend.”

“But, Tony, I can’t take your family possessions,” Steve looks lost and a little bit upset and Tony really hopes he doesn’t hate the whole idea.

“I have plenty,” he says reassuringly. “I wanted…” he fidgets awkwardly. “I wanted to give you something that would mean something, you know?” He can’t meet Steve’s eyes when he says it but Steve reaches out to squeeze his hand, and he doesn’t need to.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “And thank you for the rest, it’s amazing, Tony. I love it.”

“Well, I know how you’re into your doodling,” Tony says, slightly giddy with relief. Steve makes a tiny pout.

“Speaking of...well,” he starts. Then apparently finishes. Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

“I sort of have another gift for you but I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you because it’s maybe weird and I didn’t know if you’d like it or think it was creepy,” Steve lets out in one breath.

“What? No! I won’t think it’s creepy. You hid a present from me? I’m hurt, Steve. Gimme.”

Steve grins at him then and pokes him in the head as he stands up. “It’s, uh, in my room. Hang on a minute.”

“Steve! Tony!” Thor calls. “We are going to test these new weapons we have been gifted. Do you join us?”

“In a minute,” Steve tells him. “Just gotta grab something first.”

“I’m, uh, gonna call Pepper,” Tony manages. “I’ll catch you guys up. I want to try out these nunchucks.”

The others dash out, with Bruce following at a more sensible shuffle, and Tony fidgets awkwardly while he waits for Steve. He’s playing with the bobbleheads still on the table when Steve coughs behind him and he looks nervous, is all downturned eyes and wrinkly forehead, but he’s holding a picture frame, turned away from Tony. When he passes it over and Tony flips it around, he thinks Steve might actually be cringing.

It’s a picture of him. A painting. Steve must have done it, Tony hasn’t seen much evidence of his work before apart from him lurking around with a sketchbook, but it’s masterful. It’s Tony in his workshop, but the shop is just a suggestion, dark and shadowy. Holographic plans are a halo around Tony’s head and the arc reactor is glowing in his chest and he’s focussing on something on a table, a hammer in his upraised hand, and this is amazing. Tony realises his mouth is hanging open.

“You thought I wouldn’t like this? Steve, you’ve made me look _awesome_.”

Steve is practically one big blush. “I thought it might be creepy, painting you without asking. I’m sorry.”

“Really, really don’t be sorry. I have a painting of me and it’s amazing. I’m gonna boast about this to everyone I can find. Captain America drew me shirtless!” Steve’s blush is reaching dangerous levels.

“I’m serious, Steve,” Tony leans the painting on a chair and deliberately makes eye contact. “It’s amazing, I love it, it’s perfect.” _You’re perfect._ Steve looks delighted, massively relieved and slightly stunned all at the same time. Tony decides to push his advantage.

“Take a step back,” he tells him, and bless you soldier instincts because Steve does it immediately. “Now a little to your left.”

“Tony, what?” Steve manages as Tony advances on him. Tony points upwards.

“Mistletoe,” he explains, and then grabs Steve’s head before he finishes looking up, rests two fingers under his chin and kisses him. Not on the forehead.

Steve has a half-second of hesitation, just enough for Tony to work up a decent twinge of panic, before a hand slides around Tony’s waist and Steve is leaning into him properly, kissing back like he means it. Tony grins against his mouth and Steve licks his lips, just slightly, and then they are kissing properly and Tony can taste Christmas dinner in Steve’s mouth still and he has a hand on Steve’s hip, pulling them closer together, and Steve makes a breathy little sound. It’s hands down the best present Tony’s gotten this year. He pulls away to nuzzle at Steve’s neck and Steve laughs softly over his head, hands a bit unsteady as he brushes down Tony’s sides.

“So, I wasn’t really expecting that,” he says, voice gratifyingly shaky.

"Me either," Tony admits into his neck. "But good unexpected? Right?"

Steve laughs again. "I painted you shirtless, Tony," he reminds him. "What do you think?"

Tony is lightheaded with relief and desire and adrenaline and maybe even Christmas spirit, so he leans heavily against Steve as he steals another kiss. He’s engaged in a deep exploration of Steve’s pecs while simultaneously memorising his mouth again when Bruce re-enters the room and promptly slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he babbles. “I didn’t realise - I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

Tony’s delighted that Steve doesn’t move away, although he does stop kissing. He smiles down at Tony instead as Bruce bolts from the room.

“Well, that cat got out of the bag rather quickly,” he says.

“Your expressions are so weird, how haven’t you adapted to how we talk yet, am I not a bad enough influence on you?” Tony bats his eyelids and Steve laughs at him again.

“I expect you’ll rub off on me soon enough,” he tells him, face totally straight, and Tony thinks he’s unaware of the sheer enormity of the innuendo he’s just managed until he catches an evil glint in Steve’s eye and realises he might not be as innocent as Tony thinks.

“We should probably go downstairs before they all get ridiculous,” he says and Tony has not recovered from the rubbing off comment yet so he just rolls with it. Steve scoops up the nunchucks and his new knife and leads him away.

 

In the elevator he nuzzles into Steve’s neck again and Steve whimpers gently against him.

“You don’t mind the Wonder Twins and Bruce and Thor knowing, though? That I desperately want to jump your bones?” he asks, and Steve hums consideringly.

“No,” he says decidedly, curling an arm around Tony’s shoulders as the elevator comes to a stop.

“Good, cause I want them to be jealous that I get you,” Tony grins as he slips an arm around Steve’s waist in response and insinuates his hand into Steve’s back pocket, helping himself to a handful of genetically engineered perfection in the form of supersoldier ass. Steve hisses at him but makes a crinkly, happy face at the same time, and Tony leads him out to see the others like he’s walking on air.


End file.
